


Cost of Repairs

by engineerleopoldfitz (aching_for_distance), Traviosita9124



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 05:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3638055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aching_for_distance/pseuds/engineerleopoldfitz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traviosita9124/pseuds/Traviosita9124
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fix-it fic, because I think we're all a bit tired of the Science Babies not communicating. </p><p>Fitz gets himself sliced up on a mission, but doesn't wait for Jemma to patch him up. She tracks him down in his bunk - the long awaited talk ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Fitz!” 

He barely registered Skye’s cry of warning before the window beside him shattered and blasted outward. Crying out in pain as the shards sliced at his skin, ears ringing with the gunshots now being exchanged, Fitz ducked down, awkwardly crawling into a corner behind some crates. Out of the way and easily overlooked - so he hoped - he took stock of the damage. Nothing seemed to be bleeding too terribly badly, but fuck he wished he’d had his tactical gear on. 

May had brought him, Skye and Bobbi to another of Fury’s secret bases to raid the supplies. How had HYDRA even known it was here? Or that they would be present today? He didn’t have any of his tech besides the triptych tablet much less a weapon on him, although he was sure the women did, purely by habit. 

He was pulled from the inevitable questions by pain. The cuts might not be life-threatening, but his skin was still sliced and oozing blood in numerous places, some of which might actually need stitches. And there was the slight, very unimportant issue with his particular aversion to blood, especially the sight of his own. 

Feeling nauseous, his head spinning a bit, Fitz squeezed his eyes shut and kept his head down, for once sure he’d only be a liability if he attempted to insert himself into the situation. 

~*~

Jemma paced through the lab, wearing a path into the floor as she did everything she could possibly think of to avoid staring at the clock on the wall. When Coulson had first proposed the raid as a solution to their dwindling supplies, it had been well received. After all, it wasn’t as though they could just go to the market without drawing all kinds of attention to their location; and a secret base wasn’t any good if Hydra could find them at Walmart and simply follow them home. 

But when he had proposed that May take Skye, Bobbi, and Fitz on the raid, Jemma had felt her gut clench, and she had struggled to stay silent. She had no doubt that those three could keep him safe, but it was second nature for her to worry when it came to Fitz… even if they hadn’t had anything more than perhaps two incredibly stilted conversations in the past two months. 

Jemma groaned at the thought, hating that there was no easy solution for that particular problem, and ripped open the nearest supply cabinet. She could at least do inventory in the meantime, instead of sitting there and counting the minutes until the team came back to the Playground. 

That plan was shot to hell mere moments later, when the doors leading from the cargo bay slid open and May’s shout forced her upright once more. Jemma’s eyes went wide as she surveyed them; each of her teammates looked far worse than they had that morning, although May and Bobbi seemed the steadiest. They had Skye slung between them, clearly helping her keep her weight off her left leg. Someone, May most likely, had applied a field dressing to a rather large wound in her thigh, but it was already bleeding through. 

Jemma rushed to clear a space on the table nearest to her, and patted the cool surface. “Here. Get her up here so I can take a look.” Her eyes darted over to Fitz only to widen a bit more when she saw the tattered state of his shirt and the bloody lacerations that were showing through. She wanted to go to him, to get her hands on him and reassure herself that he truly was okay, but stopped herself; Fitz was upright, and while he looked weary, didn’t seem to be in danger of collapsing at the moment. He’d have to wait. 

Tugging on a pair of gloves, Jemma forced her eyes away from him and back to Skye. She’d take care of her, first, then worry about Fitz. 

Watching Jemma dig into the wound on Skye’s leg made Fitz’ stomach turn, a slow and sick roll. Skye’s accompanying whimper of pain, despite the anesthetic Jemma had injected, was even worse. Between that and the blood drying and crusting on his skin, making it crawl as well, Fitz found he couldn’t wait for Jemma to finish up - he needed to get this shirt and the blood off his body. Jemma would have to do it otherwise, to tell which cuts needed to be stitched shut, and that made him wince, too. 

“‘M gonna take a shower,” he mumbled to no one in particular, but by the shift of Bobbi’s head he knew he’d been heard, even if her eyes didn’t leave Skye. 

Once he made it to his room and got a good look at himself - god that seemed like a lot of blood - showering was a necessary, painful evil. Fitz flinched and hissed through it, soap getting into the cuts and stinging him. It burned in the worst of them, and he could probably point them out when he got back to Jemma to have them stitched. He got the blood off himself at least, although some of the wounds were bleeding again by the time he cleared all the dried stuff off, including one behind his ear that Fitz hadn’t even noticed originally. 

He’d just padded out into his room to find clothes when there was a knock on his door, followed by the sound of Jemma’s voice. She sounded irritated and Fitz braced himself before he flipped the latch on the door, backing away quickly before anyone else got a flash of him in nothing but a towel. 

As soon as she heard the latch click open, Jemma pushed her way into his room, her mouth pressed into a tight, thin line. She was livid, but trying to control herself; it was terrible bedside manner, after all, to yell at one’s patients. Even if said patient knew better than to leave the med bay before receiving proper attention. 

She spared Fitz a glance as she entered his space, eyes glancing over his bare torso. She felt a vague ping of regret; she would have liked the opportunity to enjoy the view, but the anger roiling in her gut simply wouldn’t permit it. Particularly not when she noticed how deep some of the cuts were, and that they had resumed bleeding. Setting her field kit down on his desk, Jemma reached out and laid her hand on his shoulder so she could turn him and fully assess his injuries. She gave a sound of alarm when she spotted the wound near the base of his skull, just below his ear, and pushed him toward the desk. 

“Here, into the better light, please.” Jemma did her best to not allow her anger with him to show through, her tone nearly robotic as she began her examination. Opening her kit, she pulled on a fresh pair of gloves and then reached for cotton and the bottle of antiseptic. “This is going to sting,” she murmured before pressing the damp cotton against his ear. Her heart went out to Fitz when she heard him hiss at the pain, but her hand remained steady. The faster she could work, the sooner this would all be over for them both. 

Fitz could tell immediately that she was angry with him. Once upon a time she’d have remembered how much Fitz hated blood, especially for it to be on him, and given him at least a little slack. This Jemma, on the other hand, didn’t seem so inclined. After she pushed him down into his desk chair, Fitz curled his uninjured arm over the wide surface and laid his head down on it, leaving his head and back and his other arm free for Jemma to work on. 

Even with Jemma’s warning, Fitz flinched at the bite of the antiseptic. It was worse than the soap had been, even, and he bit his lip to keep from whining about it, knowing she’d likely only scold him instead of teasing him about it. Eventually though, her impersonal touch and the flat, emotionless tone of Jemma’s voice got to him. On top of everything else today, it was simply too much. And Fitz was certain enough that he’d already lost her - he didn’t think confronting her could make things any worse. 

“Is this how is goin’ t’ be now?” he said, turning his head enough to peer at Jemma over his shoulder. “We’re goin’ t’ pretend like nothin’ happened or tha’ we didna used t’ practically live in each other’s heads? Or tha’ we were best friends?” His voice broke against his will, cracking sharply, and Fitz closed his eyes against the welling of tears in them. He wasn’t broken, not like he thought he was when he’d first woken up, but losing Jemma had left him fragile emotionally. 

Jemma counted as she worked, tallying lacerations and future scars, wondering how close she’d come to losing him. She kept counting, breaths in and out, trying to keep herself calm and collected as Fitz spoke. Silently, along with her counting, she tried to remind herself of everything he’d gone through, how far he’d come in so short a time, how lucky she was that he was still with her, was still Fitz (even if he’d been a little changed). 

But the jab about their friendship, the statement that there was no friendship there any longer… that was too much for her. She slammed the cotton pad she’d been using down onto the desk, near enough to him to make him flinch. It was childish, Jemma knew that much, but there was more than a little dose of personal satisfaction in seeing it. She took a step back, allowing Fitz room to turn to face her if he wanted it, and leveled him with her gaze. 

“Apparently, it is.” Her monotone was gone, and now Jemma found herself fighting back her emotion, her voice wavering between anger and sorrow. “That’s why you left the lab, isn’t it? You wanted a clean break from me? From us?”

“Never,” he blurted immediately. Fitz didn’t even have to think about his response to that question. “Y’ think I wanted to leave?” In a way, he was happy she was angry. It felt like the first time he was seeing true emotion from her since he’d woken up after the med pod. Everything since had been falsely bright smiles and constant reassurances that she was fine when she clearly wasn’t. Fitz had seen it all over her and had tried so hard to be who she needed him to be. And then she’d lied to him and left - for HYDRA, as it turned out - and she’d come back seeming even more brittle and avoidant than before. 

He stared up at her, eyes glossed, his good hand tugging at his fingers on the bad hand, willing them not to tremble so much that she’d notice. “I can work for you. I canna work with you. I’m no’ the same, Jemma. I willna ever be the same again. I know tha’. I- I- I canna say I’m h- happy about tha’, but is the truth an’ I’ve got t’ face up t’ tha’. I did it t’ myself, after all. B-bu’ I dinna think you’ve accepted tha’ yet, an’ it bloody hurts every time y’ l-look a’ me like I’m no’ g-good enough anymore.” Fitz’ stutter made an unwanted appearance as he spoke to her, and he had to slow down to keep it under better control. 

“It seemed like the b-best thing t’ do. Get out o’ your way so y’ could ge’ on with bein’ b-brilliant and doin’ all the things Coulson needs y’ to, and I could be in the garage where I canna do so much d-damage,” he added. Fitz knew she was angry, and he could see the sadness in Jemma’s expression and he found himself praying to a god he didn’t believe in that she’d stay and actually talk to him for once. He’d take yelling over silence, any day.

Jemma could feel her own tears welling on her lower lashes, impossibly hot as she listened to him. Listened to the way he so neatly laid out why he’d asked to leave the lab, her, and their nearly decade long friendship. She flinched, more than once, at the reminders he dropped about why he was struggling, and not for the first time, a part of her sincerely believed it would have been easier if she’d been the one who had nearly drown that day. 

“I have never, ever, thought you weren’t good enough, Fitz.” She sucked in a deep breath and tried to bring her heart back under control, but it was no use. Jemma was on the edge of collapse, and part of her didn’t care who or what she took down with her. Perhaps, when all this was over, she’d have the chance to use that resignation letter she’d slaved over while she sat vigil at his sick bed. “And it’s not fair that you made that kind of decision without ever asking me! It’s our partnership, Fitz, if nothing else! I had a right to weigh in on that, too! But you went and made another unilateral decision without me!” 

“Like y’ did when y’ left for HYDRA? Tha’s no’ p-partnership either, Jemma!” Fitz blurted out. “An’ wha’ was I supposed t’ do in the m-med pod? There was only enough oxygen for one of us. We’re geniuses, but neither of us could have m-magically made more air to b-breathe. I had a b-broken arm, there was no way I was going to make it up n-ninety feet. Nothin’ has been righ’ since, so it had t’ have been somethin’ I d-did. Whether it was w-what I said, or because I’m no’ all righ’ in the head anymore, it came down to the same b-b-bloody thing - I lost y’. Which was the last thing I wanted an’ the w-worst thing for me t’ try an’ deal with on top of everythin’ else.” 

He sucked in air, chest heaving from having rambled all that on one breath. “Y’ havena been able t’ look me in the eye for w-weeks. Months, even. An’ I’m sure someone has told y’ by now what h-happened while y’ were gone, so I’m sure tha’s no h-helpin’. Crazy Fitz, went cracked an’ started h-h-hallucinatin’,” Fitz said, a bitter tone creeping into his voice. His own tears spilled over and he swiped at them. “If y’ still wanted t’ be my partner, y’ could have said somethin’, or at least acted like y’ wanted t’ be, Jemma.” 

Fitz’ voice went soft and defeated at the end, his chest tight and aching as he glanced away from her. He felt terribly vulnerable, laying his emotions out for her to see, while physically wounded and mostly naked. 

“You left the lab. I thought- I thought you didn’t want me around. I thought my being gone was making it easier on you. You just… you weren’t getting better with me around all the time. And Fitz, I- I couldn’t be away from you, not after what happened.” She took a tentative half-step closer to him, hands clasped in front of her to keep them from shaking too badly. 

“No one said a word about any hallucinations.” Jemma’s words were soft, but that didn’t keep her heartbreak from showing through as she realized what had happened while she was away. She’d already felt guilty leaving him; the only reason she’d been able to had been because she was convinced it was the only way to help him in the long run, but clearly she’d been wrong about even that. “Fitz… Fitz, I have never wanted to be anywhere but with you. Since we were first paired at 17, you-” She swallowed heavily, fighting to force the words up and out of her throat. “You are dearer to me, mean more to me, than anyone else. And when you went and told me… when you decided…”

Jemma could feel the tears begin to fall down her cheeks, and she blinked rapidly in a poor attempt to keep them at bay. “God, I shouldn’t say this, not after the sacrifices others have made, but Fitz… the idea of living without you… of you dying… I would have rather we’d gone together than live without you.” As soon as the words finished tumbling out, her hand shot up to clasp over her mouth, as though that would be enough to muffle the anguished cry Jemma let out. 

His stomach clenched when Jemma admitted she hadn’t known about what happened when she was gone, and Fitz could see the moment it truly sank in and Jemma understood. He flinched away, unable to meet her eyes with her knowing just how broken he really was. And yet, her next words broke Fitz’ heart all over again. It almost sounded like Jemma was trying to say she felt the same way he did, that maybe, by some miracle, she could love him. 

Her tone shifted though, and something in it - some hint of sorrow or guilt or pain drew his blue eyes back up to her face. It took him almost too long to understand what she was saying, to realize that she’d had the same thought Fitz had - that if he’d known it would cost him their friendship, he’d have preferred they both died down there. It was an insidious thing that had lurked in the back of his head for months and Fitz had never admitted to anyone. It was so selfish that it was simply unthinkable, but here Jemma was, proving their synchronicity one more time. Perhaps one last time… 

That thought had barely slipped into his head before Fitz rejected it. She was talking to him, they were getting this all out. There was hope now - there had to be. Jemma stumbled backward, away from him, breaking into racking sobs. He abruptly wondered if she’d cried at all, since all this happened - he hadn’t, and he knew Skye hadn’t seen her break down. Heedless of the wounds she had yet to patch up or stitch, uncaring of the boundaries they’d drawn between themselves over the last months of hell, Fitz stumbled across the space between them and drew her close. His arms closed around her, giving all the love and support she hadn’t let him share. “I know, lass, shhh. Me, too,” he murmured into her ear. “I’ve though’ the same thing. More than once.” 

Jemma sobbed at his quiet admission, her whole body shaking even though she was relieved beyond words that she hadn’t been alone in thinking that way. She had felt like such an ingrate, wishing even in passing that they’d both died beneath those waves, that she’d never dared to give the thought life by speaking it aloud. It may have been a small relief, but it was soothing nonetheless. Jemma clung to Fitz, fingers pressing in against his shoulders as she attempted to cry herself out into his neck. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I thought I was helping, but I wasn’t, and then it was too late, and I- I just didn’t think…” 

Her words were jumbled all together and nearly impossible to decipher, thanks to the way she’d burrowed in against Fitz, but the spilled out anyway, each one lightening her burden a bit more. Eventually, when she realized she was merely repeating the same phrases over and over, she cut herself off by pressing a kiss to his cheek. His stubble scratched at the delicate skin of her face, but Jemma didn’t care; it simply felt too good to be in his personal space like this once again. 

Fitz took aching comfort from the way Jemma clung to him, sobbing as if her heart was breaking. And perhaps it was, he considered, if she hadn’t vented any of what she was feeling about all the events since the med pod. He simply held her, not really saying much, but letting his hands stroke her hair and back while she cried herself out. When Jemma eventually shifted to kiss his cheek, Fitz was startled enough he forgot to hide the hiss of pain when her arms snugged tighter around him, aggravating the cuts still littering his body. 

He hadn’t even thought about it - Fitz’ focus had all been for Jemma, not for himself or for her shirt, which was likely ruined now. Wincing at the thought, he gently drew back from her and glanced down. Not only was her shirt ruined, but he’d bled onto the towel still wrapped around his hips. Fitz could already see the apology forming and shook his head. “Is okay, lass. I- I’d much rather we talked this ou’, even if it means I’m uncomfortable,” he said, preempting her. His voice was soft, diffident, and Fitz bit his lip for a moment, chewing it as he considered his thoughts. “Once y’ finish up with this… will y’ stay? Really try t’ figure everything ou’? I- I dinna know if I can take much more o’ this mess between us.” 

Her eyes went wide as she took in both his battered chest and the state of her blouse, embarrassed that she’d allowed herself to be drawn so far off track. Granted, they had needed the moment to get them speaking again, but she really should have finished patching him up first. “Uh, yes, yes, I’ll stay, but let’s get you cleaned up first, yeah?” Jemma’s words were still watery, but much stronger, as she guided Fitz back into his desk chair. 

With him back in the stronger light, Jemma took up her task once more, cleaning away blood and grime as she bandaged and stitched as needed. This time around, however, she managed to keep her touch light and her words gentle, doing her best to distract Fitz as she tended to him. She hated to cause him more pain, but unfortunately knew it was a necessary evil. The best she could do was hope to make quick work of it, and make him comfortable enough so he could rest easily. 

Fitz watched her as she worked on him, reassured that things were actually on the mend by the way she kept glancing up to check on him. He’d never been fond of blood, probably never would be, but Fitz was more worried about his best friend than he was about the stitches she was inserting in his skin at the moment. 

Once she was done, Fitz slowly stretched, pleased to find that the stitches didn’t pull much. He’d only have to be careful about lifting his arms over his head, really. From there, he glanced at Jemma and nodded toward the only other place to sit in his little room. “Go on, lass. Get off your feet for a minute. I’m goin’ t’ get dressed. Ah- do y’ want another shirt? I canna imagine tha’s very comfortable a’ the moment,” he said, nodding at her bloodstained blouse. 

When she nodded, Fitz tugged an extra t-shirt from his drawer along with his own pajamas and tossed it at her with a little smirk. “I’ll change in the bathroom. Jus’ tell me when is safe t’ come back out,” he suggested, slipping into the smaller room and shutting the door behind him. He spent a moment leaned back against the door, wincing when he momentarily forgot his injuries, before pulling on flannel pants and an old, worn t-shirt. The soft cotton was probably the most comfortable thing he could wear over the bandages and stitches. 

It was an odd sensation, to have these familiar interactions with Fitz after spending so many months tiptoeing around each other, but Jemma was glad for the opportunity. She had been beginning to think that they’d never be able to work it out, and to have it happen so suddenly was something she hadn’t dared to dream. She waited to hear the soft snick of the bathroom door latching into place before she undid the buttons on her blouse, allowing the silk garment to flutter to the floor before pulling on the worn t-shirt he had given her. 

Jemma grinned when she recognized it as the SciTech Academy class shirt she’d talked him into buying, the cotton worn and soft after years of wearing and washing it. It had been a favorite of hers to steal when they’d first moved in together, and she was inordinately pleased that he had offered it to her now. 

Toeing off her shoes, Jemma tugged back the covers on one half of his bed and slipped beneath them. “Fitz?” she called, pitching her voice so he could hear it through the bathroom door. “I’m ready when you are.” 

He padded back out to join her, and there was a moment when if it wasn’t for the unfamiliar room surrounding them, they could have been those old versions of themselves, a much younger Fitz and Simmons from back at the Academy or when they’d lived together at SciOps. Except Fitz was sore and sliced up from an unexpected encounter with HYDRA, Jemma was red-eyed and looked exhausted from her earlier crying jag, and they hadn’t actually spent time together like this in months. 

Wary of making her uncomfortable, Fitz laid atop the blankets rather than sliding under with Jemma, carefully stretching out on his stomach and folding his arms under his head. He’d taken a few paracetamol tablets while he was in the bathroom to take care of the lingering pains now that Jemma’s anesthetic was wearing off. Fitz tipped his head to look at Jemma, a shy smile on his face. “Hi, Jem,” he offered, deliberately choosing the diminutive he’d only used for her in private, and hadn’t crossed his tongue since well before the med pod. “Are- y’ okay?” 

The sound of her nickname rolling off his tongue was sweet, and she grinned right back at him when she heard it. “Yes, I’m fi-” Jemma’s reply was automatic, the response of someone who was used to caring for parents and siblings and friends, someone who was used to carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders without raising her voice to complain about the burden. But this was Fitz, the only one she really liked having call her “Jem,” and if there was anyone she could answer honestly, it was him. 

“No, not really. I mean, I feel better than when we first came in here, but… I haven’t really felt all right for months.” She saw Fitz’ eyes darken a bit at her words, and knew instantly he was right back there with her, trapped 90 feet below water with only a slim hope of survival, thanks to a man they had once counted as one of their nearest and dearest friends. 

Fitz gaze dropped guiltily, his fingers picking at a stray thread on his comforter. “‘M sorry. I know I havena made things any easier on y’. Both things I had some control over an’ the ones I didn’. I jus’- I wish we’d talked before now, y’ know?” He snuggled a bit deeper into the pillow he’d drawn in under his head and managed to look over at Jemma again, his expression sad. 

“Y’ told me tha’ one thing… What else have y’ been keepin’ locked up?” Fitz asked gently. “I think you migh’ have even more hidden away righ’ now than I do, an’ tha’s saying somethin’.” He’d listen to whatever Jemma wanted to tell him, however much she wanted to say. That had always been true, but it felt especially important right now when Jemma hadn’t been trusting anyone with her inner thoughts and turmoil. 

Turning onto her side to face him fully, Jemma gave him a small shrug. The truth of the matter was, she had no idea where to even begin. A year ago, her life had been blissfully simple: follow orders, use science to solve the world’s problems, and cap everything off with a movie night with her best friend. Now, she was the science head of a secret, fugitive organization, people were looking to her to make decisions in which lives hung in the balance, and she and her best friend hadn’t spoken, truly spoken, in months. Life was, to put it simply, suddenly complicated.

“Honestly, Fitz… I couldn’t even begin to tell you. It just seems like every day brings a new life-or-death decision, and I’m terrified that I am constantly making the wrong call. That one day, a decision I make, even with something as simple as triage, will cost us one of our teammates.” She thought of Skye, of how she had first pumped her full of GH-325 to save her life, then hadn’t been able to blow the tunnels in time to keep her out of the temple, and her expression darkened. “That is, if it hasn’t already.”

“I think we’re all facin’ tha’, though,” Fitz pointed out. “If Coulson asks me for tech- wha’ if I canna come up with what he wants? Or it backfires? Wha’ if May gets taken out in a figh’ an’ someone else gets hurt? Skye made a mistake, goin’ down in the tunnels - she feels like she got Trip killed, even though he made the choice t’ go after her.” He sighed quietly, but his eyes were fixed on Jemma, expression serious. “We’re all under too much pressure. Is no’ just you… I think mos’ everyone on the team would understan’ if y’ wanted t’ talk t’ them about it. Well. Excep’ Coulson.” 

Fitz wasn’t at all happy about the way the new Director had pulled away from everyone and become so much less concerned with everyone getting home safely. He knew it had to be difficult, trying to rebuild SHIELD, but Fitz didn’t want to work for another Fury. There simply weren’t enough loyal SHIELD agents left to risk them the way Coulson seemed to be doing lately. 

He hesitated over his next comment, but Fitz needed to say it. “Jus’... just so y’ know. Abou’ the med pod. I wish we’d had other options. Bu’ we didn’, an’ I dinna regret wha’ I said or wha’ I did. I know you’re angry with me for makin’ the choice I did, bu’ the longer we waited the harder it was goin’ t’ be an’ we were usin’ up the air we had lef’. I wanted y’ t’ have the best chance y’ could. An’... I was terrified,” Fitz admitted. “I mean- who wants t’ know they’re effectively about t’ commit suicide? Wakin’ up a’ the Playgroun’ was… I never expected tha’ secon’ chance. Even with the- the-.... shite.” He swore at the realization he’d completely lost the word he was looking for. “Y’ know wha’ I mean. Even with me forgettin’ things an’ bein’ so shaky- If you’re goin’ t’ take credit for somethin’- Is your faul’ I’m still here. No’ your faul’ tha’ I’m no’ the same.” 

His words caused her to tear up once more, and Jemma ducked her face into his pillow in an attempt to calm herself before she even considered answering him. All that did, though, was give her the opportunity to breath in the lingering scent he’d left on the pillow, that same cologne-soap-and-solder smell he’d had since the Academy, and she found she only wanted to cry even harder.

“I was mad, am mad, because it meant you were leaving me behind.” Jemma’s first words were nearly lost in the down pillow, and she forced herself to look at Fitz. He deserved to hear what she had to say, and all of it, not little bits and pieces. “I understand, logically, why you did what you did, Fitz. But the idea of a life without you terrified me. Still does, even if we don’t talk as often.” She found she could help herself, and her hand reached out so she could ruffle her fingers through his curls as she spoke, seeking out any small comfort she could find. 

Jemma stifled a small sob when she felt him lean into her touch, still disbelieving of the fact that they were still in the same room, and neither of them had tried to cut and run. “I owe you an apology, Fitz. When Coulson asked me to leave, to infiltrate HYDRA, I should have told you the truth. I told myself it was because I didn’t want you to worry, and that was true on some level, but… I was mostly afraid. Afraid of how bad it would be when I did eventually lose you, if we were still so wrapped up in each other. I thought… I thought that distancing myself from you would be best for both of us. I was wrong, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied and I’m sorry I pulled away. You deserve so much better than that.” 

Her tears had begun to fall anew, and Jemma was forced to withdraw her hand so she could swipe at her cheeks. Not that it did her any good; they were falling faster than she could get to them, and soon, her cheek was pressed against a damp spot on the pillow case. 

Fitz didn’t even try to resist his reaction to her willingly touching him again. He was so tired of having to hide how much he cared for her, knowing she didn’t return his feelings, but he’d missed her. And here in the quiet and privacy of his room, with the two of them finally talking things out, Fitz didn’t see the point. They were going to have to deal with his feelings one way or another. 

He shook his head at her words, his mouth twisting into a frown. Fitz hated that she’d felt the need to get away from him. “I never meant t’ make y’ feel tha’ way,” he said, his eyes stinging with tears. “I though’-” Fitz was sorting through what she’d said, his mind catching on things and trying to make sense of them. “Did- do y’ no’ want t’-” 

Steeling himself against her tears, Fitz bit his lip sharply, willing himself not to cry, but he had to ask. “Are y’ tryin’ t’ tell me y’ dinna want t’ try t’ get back t’-” His breath caught and Fitz found he couldn’t finish the question. Saying it aloud would make it real and Fitz wasn’t prepared for the possibility that Jemma didn’t want to be FitzSimmons again, that their close call had scared her so badly that she wouldn’t want to risk getting hurt that badly again. This time Fitz was the one to duck away, burying his face in a pillow to hide his reaction. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.


	2. Chapter 2

Although she knew it was scientifically impossible, Jemma could have sworn her heart stuttered to a standstill in her chest. Fitz thought that she was trying to leave him for good. That wouldn’t do. Her movements were awkward, impeded by the heavy comforter and the fact that Fitz was lying on top of them, but she did her best to scoot closer and get her arm around him. 

“Fitz,” she whispered, ducking her face against his. “Fitz, that is not at all what I meant. What I am trying to say is that I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t in sync with you on this. I’m sorry I made the mistake of leaving. All I wanted, while I was gone, was to be back here, with you, in our lab, being FitzSimmons again. I’m sorry it took an undercover mission for me to realize how much I need you- how much I love you- and I’m sorry I didn’t have the courage to say that sooner.”

Jemma desperately wanted to beg for his forgiveness, wanted to hear that Fitz would absolve her from this mistake, but she couldn’t ask that of him. If she asked, he would give it to her, and she needed to know that it was his decision, and his alone. 

Fitz’ entire body went rigid, his back stiffening under the press of Jemma’s arm. Had she- Did Jemma even realize what she’d just said? And did she mean it? Shuddering out a breath, he turned his head so their foreheads pressed together, sharing the same air in the scant space between them. “Jemma…” he breathed out, his own voice barely a whisper, eyes closed against the hope that was making his heart feel like it was too big for its space in his chest. 

“All I ever wanted was for us t’ be FitzSimmons,” he choked out. “It doesna have t’ be any more than tha’ unless y’ want it t’ be. I mean it, lass. Dinna say somethin’ we’ll both regret jus’ because y’ think is what I want t’ hear.” If he could have, he’d have turned on his side to face her, but that would have meant pushing her arm away so he could move and Fitz didn’t have the heart to. 

His tone, both so full of hope and so clearly fearful that he was misunderstanding what she was saying, tore at Jemma. She hated knowing she’d done that, and to her best friend, no less. “I know, Fitz, I know,” she murmured, squeezing her own eyes shut as she leaned into him further. “I- I had a lot of time to do a lot of thinking while I was away. This isn’t the first time I’ve thought this. Just the first I’ve said it aloud.” 

She pulled back, but only far enough that she could press a kiss to his forehead, and then down along his cheek, before she settled down once more. “Fitz, come get under the covers with me? Please?” Suddenly, it was too much for Jemma to have the blanket between them. She wanted to be as close to Fitz as possible, for as long as possible. She had lost time to make up for. 

Fitz shuddered out another breath, shaky, at the press of her mouth to his cheek and forehead. It brought back that moment in the med pod, when Jemma had so desperately scattered kisses over his face, and the memory still hurt. Still, he didn’t want anything more at the moment than to be able to hug Jemma close and reassure them both that things were going to be okay. 

Gingerly pushing himself up from the bed and wincing slightly at the pull from his injuries, Fitz slipped under the blankets to lay on his good side, facing her. Scared but hopeful, he reached for Jemma, fingers brushing her arm. “C’mere?” he murmured, unsure if she’d let him hold her. For all their talking and the misunderstandings and trying to be honest with each other, Fitz still wasn’t convinced that Jemma had gotten out everything she needed to. Or gotten what she needed from him. 

Jemma chased after his gentle touch, needing to truly feel him. It wasn’t all the different from how she felt patching him up; same as then, having the steady press of his body against her, warm and solid, and the rhythmic beating of his heart beneath her ear worked magic when it came to her being able to relax. Now, finally having that in full again after so many months of self-inflicted separation, Jemma wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself. 

She found her way, though, pressing her face into Fitz’ chest while her fingers curled in the soft cotton of his t-shirt as though she were afraid he’d pull away from her. “I feel like a broken record,” she murmured, “but I’ve missed you terribly.” 

Fitz’ arm twined around her, heedless of the discomfort as he drew her closer. Between the way she burrowed in, her fingers tangling in his shirt and her head on his chest, and the warmth of her against him, something that was knotted up inside him loosened. He tipped his head down to hers, pressing a kiss of his own into Jemma’s hair before settling his chin there. “Me too,” he said softly. “Nothin’ has felt righ’ for months now.” 

He’d known for years that his life was inextricably tangled up with hers, but Fitz hadn’t realized just how much of a gaping hole it would leave for him to not have her in his life until she’d left for HYDRA. Things had been awkward once he’d woken up from the coma, but Fitz had thought that was more because of his disability than anything. Even with her not mentioning his confession, he’d believed Jemma was simply avoiding the conversation until he was in a better place. It hadn’t been until she’d left and he’d realized she’d lied to him that everything had gone to total shite. 

“‘M sorry I havena been a better friend,” he murmured. “I shouldna have let my feelings make me so blind t’ your side o’ things.” 

Jemma hummed, considering his words as her brain began to slow. She was warm and comfortable here, pressed against Fitz, and after two crying jags, there was nothing more she wanted than to drift off and go to sleep. But, if he wanted to talk, she wouldn’t deny him that. They both had too much to say to each other to have the other behave indifferently now. That would undoubtedly only lead to more heartache. 

“We’ve both made mistakes, Fitz. Serious ones.” She nuzzled in closer, fingers tightening in the cotton she had in her grasp. “We just need to make sure that we talk to each other in the future. No more misunderstandings like this. Well, at least as far as we can prevent them.” Certainly neither of them had foreseen Ward dropping them out of the Bus; if they had, well, their reality would be entirely different. 

He could hear the weariness in her voice - he was tired, too - but Fitz couldn’t let her drift off just yet. Not until they cleared up one more thing. “Hey… Jem?” he called softly, feeling her attention shift back to him from the slight tilt of her head against his chest. “Did- did y’ mean what y’ said earlier? I mean… I know I didna say it righ’ out when we were in the med pod, bu’ I do love y’. I have for a long while, I jus’... I was scared t’ say anythin’ before.” 

Fitz pulled back a bit, craning his head to try and get a glimpse of Jemma’s face, but he couldn’t get more than a glimpse of her ear and the curve of her cheek with the way she’d buried her face in his shirt. “If y’ only love me as a friend, tha’s okay, lass. I mean i’. Jus’ tell me t’ shush an’ I’ll never bring it up again.” 

Jemma pulled back so they could see each other more clearly; Fitz’ eyes were bright and his expression more than a tad anxious. Yet again, she realized that she hadn’t been clear enough. He apparently thought she’d meant she loved him as a friend, which she did, but… what she felt for him, the warmth and love and affection, when far beyond the kind of love one might hold for a friend. She certainly didn’t feel a compulsion to keep Skye or Bobbi or any of their other teammates so close, and while she’d miss them if something happened, it would pale in comparison as to how she’d felt going a few months without the man she was currently pressed against. 

Moving slowly, wanting to give him time to pull away if he decided he wasn’t ready, Jemma leaned up to press a gentle kiss to his mouth. It was chaste, nothing more than a soft press and slide of their lips, and she hoped that was answer enough for Fitz. Yes, she loved him as a friend, but she loved him this way, too, and wanted to try and see what they just might become. 

He unconsciously held his breath when Jemma peered up at him and then leaned in. When her mouth met his though, Fitz let out a quiet sigh of relief against her lips, meeting her halfway. It was such a relief to be wanted that he didn’t feel any need to push for anything else, especially not when they were just finding their balance together again. He did chase her when she tried to draw back, but only to claim another soft kiss, short and sweet, and give an affectionate little nuzzle. This time Fitz was the one to pull away, but his eyes were bright and there was a little smile lurking around the corners of his mouth.

“I hope tha’s a yes, then,” he said softly, biting his lip to try and resist the grin that wanted to spread over his face. Fitz really, really just wanted to hear her say it without any sort of apology or explanation attached. 

Jemma giggled and gently wound her arms around his waist as she settled back into his arms. She knew he wasn’t really uncertain of her, not with the way Fitz’ mouth was curling upward and the way he had twined himself around her. She felt lighter than she had in weeks, and she gave him a goofy grin in response. 

“Yes. Yes, I love you, Fitz. Yes, I want to try this. Yes, I want there to be an ‘us’, SHIELD and Section 17 be damned.” 

He couldn’t help but return Jemma’s grin, squeezing her closer to him and ignoring the discomfort from her arm wrapping over his side. “I love you, too, lass,” Fitz said, half-laughing as his smile took over his face. “An’ I’ve missed that, too,” he added, referring to her laugh and smile. There wasn’t a single time he could recall seeing a genuine, purely happy smile on her face since he’d first woken up from his coma and she’d managed a tremulous smile for him between her tears. Everything since had been forced or tinged with something else - when she smiled at all. 

“I dinna give a damn abou’ section 17,” Fitz agreed. “An’ Coulson needs us too much t’ let us go, anyway.” Besides, if Bobbi and Hunter were going to be allowed to carry on the way they were, sneaking in quickies around the base, then his and Jemma’s relationship should be a non-issue provided they got back to FitzSimmonsing fairly quickly and didn’t make a spectacle of themselves. 

Jemma’s head fairly spun with their quick turnaround. Not even two hours prior, she and Fitz had been as estranged as they’d ever been, without a single hope of regaining the friendship they’d built over the years. Now, they were snug in bed together, trading kisses between bouts of laughter. And true, while both of them were a bit battered, both physically and mentally, it was likely a safe bet to say that this was the most hale either of them had felt in a long, long time. 

Something sank in as Fitz spoke though, something that had been bothering her, but perhaps now that things were different, he’d reconsider. “Does this mean you’ll consider coming back to the lab? Or at least splitting your time between the lab and the garage?” Jemma knew that he enjoyed working with Mack, and the chance to tinker with the Playground’s fleet, but she hoped he’d consider working in the lab at least part time. She liked the scientists that she had been working with, and while they were bright, they weren’t Fitz. She hoped she could have her partner back, too, at least to some extent. 

Fitz had just settled into things, the reality of being curled into his bed with Jemma a warm weight in his arms finally sinking in. The sound of her laughter as the tension drained away, letting them talk without barriers for the first time in months, had him finally feeling like everything was going to be okay. Her question and the sudden shift of her tone put him on alert and sure enough, Fitz flinched, suddenly feeling shy again and a bit defensive. 

“I, ahh,” he demurred, “I dinna know, Jemma. I mean, I did leave for a reason - no’ just because I couldna stand t’ have y’ lookin’ a’ me like I was broken all the time. I dinna want t’ hold y’ back or make y’ have t’ clean up after me if I mess up. An’ I’m bound t’ mess up, trust me. Some days migh’ be better than others, bu’ the data in here…” Fitz drew his arm from around her to gesture vaguely at his head. “Is no’ always in order.” He saw the instant disappointment on her face and sighed softly. “Is no’ tha’ I dinna want t’ work with y’ anymore, lass. Can we-” 

He paused for a moment, clearly trying to find a word that simply wasn’t forthcoming. Fitz ended up circling around and explaining differently, “I can stop in sometimes. Think through things with y’, as much as I can. Bu’ I think it might be safer for me no’ t’ do anythin’ hands on in there for a while.”

“Oh.” The exclamation was soft as Jemma’s eyes scanned his face, her enthusiasm from a moment before sinking. She could understand his hesitation, and knew that he wasn’t staying away because of her, but it was still a bit of a letdown. Still, she would be supportive. He promised he’d try, and really, that was better than she’d been hoping to hear. “All right. I just… I don’t want you feeling like you have to stay away. I’d like you to feel comfortable coming in whenever you’d like. That’s all.” 

Her lips curled upward and she leaned in to brush her nose against his before kissing him softly. They were on the path back to themselves, back to being FitzSimmons. There was no need for Jemma to rush anything; they would get there on their own, in their own time, same as they always had. “We’ll take it slow, Fitz. We’ll go at our own pace, for this, and for everything else. I don’t plan on going anywhere, at least not without you.”

“No, no,” Fitz was quick to try and correct her. “Is no’ because- I know I dinna have t’ stay away. Bu’... I dinna feel like I belong there anymore. No’ with all those other people aroun’. And no’ when I still have trouble with so much. I’m gettin’ better, but it makes me more nervous when I know people are watchin’.” He hoped Jemma understood - that his only concerns about her in the lab was the way she’d been hovering over him. But that didn’t mean Fitz wasn’t still nervous about being a klutz or having everyone else watching him like he was just another lab specimen. 

The paracetamol were finally kicking in properly, but Fitz was still uncomfortable. Rather than reaching all the way around her, his hand settled on her side, his thumb idly skimming in an arc over Jemma’s ribs. “An’... y’ know y’ can come down t’ the garage if y’ want? Is no’ like is off-limits or anythin’.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

Jemma tried to give herself over to the feeling of Fitz’ hand on her side, particularly the soothing way his thumb stroked over her ribs, she really did. However, try as she might, her discomfort still showed through. There were a number of reasons she avoided going to the garage unless it was absolutely necessary. Until now, the primary reason had been because she’d hoped to give Fitz his space, if that was what he needed from her. There was also the fact that it held a lot of memories, both good and bad, of what had been their lab. To see it changed so drastically stung a bit. 

There was also the fact that, try as she might, she couldn’t warm up to Alphonso Mackenzie. Jemma recognized that they had gotten off to a rocky start because of his protectiveness over Fitz, but there seemed to be something else lurking there. She tried to avoid being around the mechanic as often as possible; her job was stressful enough without adding in a needless inter-departmental feud to the mix. 

His injuries were on what was already Fitz’ bad side, and the longer she was quiet, the more his fingers trembled as his nerves took over. Eventually he drew it back with a hiss, flopping onto his back to release his other hand from beneath him and tug his fingers out straight as they tried to cramp on him. This, at least, had become routine. Fitz had found he’d grown so accustomed to the start of the muscle spasms that he did this even in his sleep, hurriedly pulling his fingers out taut and stretching them. The times he forgot, he’d wake up in agony, his fingers knotted into a clawed position he had to pry them out of. 

“I- I guess you’re no’ especially fond o’ tha’ idea,” Fitz muttered, eyes on his hands. It hurt a bit, given the garage was about the only place he felt even remotely normal these days. And it seemed a little unfair that she hadn’t hesitated to ask him to come to her in the lab but was so dismissive of coming to him. 

His withdrawal hurt, although Jemma supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d at least been willing to discuss coming into the lab again, and she’d exactly bothered to hide her reluctance regarding the idea. She had to be careful how she phrased her next thoughts, though. Fitz had taken a shine to Mack, and as much as it had hurt feeling replaced when she’d first come back from her undercover stint, it had been nice to see that he’d come out of his shell somewhat. There was also the chance that if she spoke too harshly about the mechanic, it would only serve to distance them once more. 

“It’s not you, or the garage that I mind, Fitz, it’s just… well, Mack and I don’t have the best rapport, and it just seems for the best that I stay out of his way.”

Fitz’ brows knit together. He knew there’d been words exchanged between the two - Mack had mentioned it in passing, but it wasn’t like Jemma to not get along with someone. “Is no’ a question o’ stayin’ out o’ his way. Is puttin’ yourself in mine. I guess tha’s no’ as important if I’m no’ in the lab with y’,” he said, the hurt finally sneaking through. “I know y’ never come in there t’ know, bu’ I work better there. Is mostly quiet, I dinna have people peekin’ in a’ me an’ seein’ every li’l mistake.” 

He sighed, still fidgeting with his fingers as he tipped his head to look at her. “Is fine. I jus’ though’ I’d offer,” Fitz said, but given the look on his face, it really wasn’t okay. 

“Hey,” she whispered, reaching for him, her hand coming up to cup his cheek as she scooted closer. “I’m sorry, Fitz. I didn’t mean it like that at all. I wasn’t even thinking about the access the others have to the lab.” Pushing up onto her elbow so she could more easily reach him without jostling his injuries, Jemma leaned in to kiss him, hoping that the small gesture could give him some reassurance. 

“If it’s easier for you to concentrate in the garage, well, I can try to work out of there sometimes, too.” She’d be civil, for Fitz’ sake, and if that didn’t work… well, she could learn to just ignore Mack entirely, when she was able to do so. 

He sighed and shook his head. She still wasn’t getting it. “Y’ dinna have t’ come down there t’ work, Jemma.” Fitz sounded frustrated now, his voice shaking and a hint of the stutter slipping back in. “N-none o’ your equipmen’ is down there an’ I wouldna expect y’ to bring it jus’ so y’ can s-spend time with me. Is it so hard t’ stop by and say h-hi and see what I’m w-workin’ on? Or come talk t’ me abou’ s-somethin’ I migh’ actually be able t’ help with?” 

Fitz was struggling with feeling like she wanted him to just come back to the lab like nothing had ever happened, that he had to come to her 100% instead of meeting in the middle. It likely wasn’t fair and wasn’t what she’d meant, but emotions weren’t always logical. 

Feeling defeated, and very, very small, Jemma dropped off her elbow and back onto her half of the mattress. Somehow, despite trying to make it better, she’d only gone and made it worse. There was a part of her that wanted to mumble a quiet good night, slip from his bed, and run for the safety of her own bunk, but she forced herself to stand firm. Running now would only hurt Fitz, and would likely ruin any headway they’d made in the past few hours. 

Instead, she merely nodded, her action causing her to burrow down into the pillow, as she said, “I can do that, Fitz. Gladly.” While her words were quiet, she meant each and every one of them. She might not like Mack and she might not be comfortable in the garage, but she did love Fitz. Seeing him, spending time with him again… that alone would make it worth dealing with her discomfort when it came to Alphonso Mackenzie. 

The sigh that echoed out of him felt like it came from the depths of his bottomless stomach. “Jemma… Tha’ didna come ou’ right. I mean- I meant it, bu’... I dinna know if I’ll ever be alrigh’ in the lab again. Tha’s just truth. If my coordination doesna get better than this, I’m a danger t’ everyone in there, especially with the type o’ stuff Coulson has y’ workin’ on. I’ll try, because I want t’ work with y’ again, bu’ I canna afford my pride, okay? No’ when it means I could get you or anyone else hurt. Again.”

“So y’ might need t’ accept tha’ sometimes you’re goin’ t’ have t’ come t’ me. I’m sorry y’ seem so unhappy about tha’. Tha’s work, anyway. It doesna mean we canna still spend time together when we’re no’ workin’...” He hesitated, glancing over at her. “Righ’?” Jemma’s face was too still, her expression frozen, and Fitz felt an all-too-familiar pang, knowing he’d mucked up again. At least she was still here this time, and not running though. 

Swallowing hard, he lifted his arm, laying it above her head on the pillow and creating a space for her. “Hey. C’mere?” 

A wave of relief broke over Jemma when Fitz extended his arm, clearly creating a space for her to lay in. A part of her had been afraid that she’d offended him so badly that they’d end up with each of them sleeping curled up on opposite ends of the mattress, so when he offered her a place against his chest, Jemma fairly rushed in to take it. He was warm and solid beneath her cheek, and she settled her arm around him, taking care to be sure she didn’t jostle his injuries too badly. 

She knew that, eventually, they would learn how to speak to each other again. Would learn their tones and the new ways of communicating. In short, they would learn what it was to be a couple. If it hadn’t been for her weariness after the adrenaline rush of treating Skye and her fight with Fitz, Jemma might have wanted to parse that out in the moment, too; as it was, she yawned, wide enough to feel her jaw crack. With an embarrassed little chuckle, she ducked her face against Fitz and allowed her eyes to flutter shut. 

“I would hope we’d spend a lot of time together outside of work, given our conversation tonight. Don’t you?” She squeezed her arm about him a bit more snuggly in a half-hug before her body relaxed against him. “But sleep now. Sleep would be good. It’s been a long, long day.” 

Fitz’ fears eased when she closed the space between them almost immediately, and he brought his arm down to drape around her shoulders. “We’ll figure i’ out,” he said softly, shifting to rest his chin atop Jemma’s head. “An’ sleep would be good.” It wasn’t even that late, but with everything that had happened, Fitz simply felt weary. Even an hour or two of napping, especially with Jemma curled up with him for the first time in ages, would do wonders for his mindset. 

“Go on, lass,” he urged, settling himself more comfortably. “We can talk more later?” Fitz left it as a soft question, hoping she’d still want to make things work after she’d slept on it for a bit. 

Jemma nodded, not bothering to stifle her yawn this time. After the stress she’d put herself under over the past several months, she hadn’t been sleeping properly at all, and was looking forward to all the rest she could get. “G’night, Fitz. Love you,” was all she managed to murmur before she was out like a light. 

Her hopes for several hours of deep sleep were premature, as Jemma soon realized. She was woken what felt like only a short time later by a familiar voice calling for Fitz, and the too-loud scrape of the door in its tracks. Her eyes flew open, and she scrambled back against the headboard. A tiny, irrational part of her wanted to run and hide beneath the bed; even when she’d been at the Academy, she’d never been caught in a male cadet’s room, and she didn’t particularly want to be caught now.

The only thing stopping her from trying to hide was the fact that it was Fitz beside her. If there was anyone she wanted to be caught next to, it was him. Besides, what was the worst that could be done? A formal reprimand? Both their records were stellar; a single reprimand, as much as it might pain her, wouldn’t be anywhere near sufficient grounds for their dismissal. Still, braced as she was, she didn’t anticipate the shriek that came out of Skye’s mouth, or the excited babbling that followed shortly. 

“Oh my God! You two! What the hell, guys? How long have you been holding out on me?”

Jemma groaned softly, and still half asleep, leaned into Fitz, trusting that he would be better suited to explaining things to their excitable friend than she was at the moment. 

Fitz groaned and blearily peered over at Skye, who was almost bouncing in the doorway in her excitement. “Jus’ happened earlier. We talked,” he explained, grumpy about being awakened and the way Jemma had drawn back from him. “I should have locked tha’ bloody door. What do y’ wan’, Skye?” 

“I was looking for Jemma. Apparently she’s locking up the pain meds now and I need some.” Skye’s tone was vaguely annoyed, but they all knew she couldn’t stay mad at Jemma. Indeed, her tone shifted to a faintly whining plead a moment later. “C’mon, Simmons. I have a hole in my leg. Please?” 

“Pretty sure she told y’ t’ stay off tha’ leg before she came lookin’ for me,” Fitz replied. He knew Jemma and he knew her habits when acting as the team’s doctor. “I dinna think you’re goin’ t’ get much sympathy when y’ went against doctor’s orders.” 

Jemma ducked her face against Fitz’ shoulder to hide a yawn as she listened to the exchange. It allowed her to stay close to him, basking a bit in the warmth the Scot always seemed to radiate, while she tried to jar her sleep-logged brain into remembering. Given the budding specialist’s build, the dose she’d given her should have lasted six hours. There was a chance the Kree DNA lurking in her had caused her body to metabolize it more quickly, but Jemma sincerely doubted it; it was more likely that in the adrenaline let down after their mission, as well as Skye’s natural tendency to get into things when bored, had made it so the drug couldn’t work properly. 

Moving slowly, reluctant to separate too much from Fitz, she reached over to the bedside table for her mobile, and jabbed at the power button. Jemma scowled at the device as she read the time, and quickly turned the expression on her friend. “You have at least two more hours before it’s safe for me to give you another dose.” She dropped the phone onto the mattress beside her, and slowly slipped down the headboard, making herself comfortable. “Go challenge Hunter to that video game he’s always playing, if you need something to do. No matter what, keep off the leg. I’ll come find you in two hours.”

“But Simmons,” Skye protested, more than a hint of a whine in her tone, “it hurts now. If you loved me, you’d give me the key.” 

All that earned her was Jemma arching her brow as she stared the younger woman down. “Ask again, and I’ll make sure the key never sees the light of day again. I hear May has some meditation techniques that are meant to reduce pain, though.”

Skye scowled at that, but slowly backed out of the room. “Fine, two hours,” she agreed, clearly irked. “But if you’re late, I’m changing all your passwords and reorganizing your lab.” Threat hanging in the air, Skye gave them a quick, goofy grin, and shut the door behind her. Jemma groaned and reached for her phone, setting an alarm for an hour and forty-five minutes from then. She didn’t particularly care to be forced out of bed, but she relished the idea of spending weeks putting her lab in order even more. The last time Skye had decided to “reorganize” for her, it had taken Jemma nearly a month to set things right, and that had been when she had been trying to be helpful; if she was trying to be vindictive, there was no telling just what Skye might do. 

Fitz kept his mouth firmly shut while Jemma talked to Skye. He was grumpy enough about being woken, much less for something that was easily avoidable if Skye had heeded Jemma’s instructions in the first place. All he wanted was to roll back over and curl back up with her, but Fitz sighed and got up instead. First things first, if he only had two hours with her, he was locking that bloody door against any further random interruptions. 

Flipping the latch, Fitz made the mistake of looking back at Jemma. The sight of her there in his bed, sleepy and rumpled and wrapped in his old shirt, was a punch in his gut. Especially since he’d never seen her there before. Not like this at least, knowing she loved him too. Fitz’ mouth split into a tired grin and he double checked the lock before rejoining her. 

He sank into the mattress with a quiet sigh, and for the first time in months Fitz didn’t hesitate before putting himself into Jemma’s space. Wrapping his arm around Jemma’s waist, he buried his face against her shoulder and hugged Jemma close. “I like Skye well enough, bu’ she’s go’ terrible timin’,” Fitz mumbled, his already low voice muffled by her shirt. “More sleep, yeah?” 

The way Fitz had looked at her, scowl easily dropping into a wide, happy grin as he padded back to bed, made Jemma’s stomach flip pleasantly. She’d never been fond of being overly sentimental, but when it came to Fitz she couldn’t help herself. Seeing him in this light, and knowing that she could feel free to reach for him when they were alone, her arms easily draped around Fitz in return. He felt warm and solid pressed fully against her side, and Jemma purred as he groused quietly into her shirt. 

Tipping her head, she pressed a kiss to his temple and brought her hand up to cradle the back of his head. Fitz had always had the most darling curls - not that Jemma would have ever dared to say as much to him for fear of his scowl - and she was more than happy to take every opportunity to get her fingers tangled up in them. Moving slowly, she used the gentle scraping of her nails over his scalp to soothe them both; they needed it after being jolted awake by Skye’s sudden burst of raucous enthusiasm.

“More sleep sounds good.” Jemma’s words were quiet, so soft that if it weren’t for the ruffling of Fitz’ hair, she wouldn’t have believed she spoke them aloud. He glanced up at her, still smiling, and she was overcome by impulse. Before she could over think it, Jemma leaned forward and set her lips over his, slow and sweet. She savored his quick intake of breath, and marveled at how much she already adored those tiny reactions he gave her. “Wouldn’t mind a little more of that, either,” she mumbled against his mouth before sinking back into Fitz’ pillows, a sleepy, self-satisfied look on her face.


End file.
